


you undo me

by witching



Series: you've been like a light [9]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Communication, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friendship/Love, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Martim Week 2021, Martim week: jealousy, Martim week: size kink/difference, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Size Kink, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Trans Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: When Tim turns to face Martin, he tries to show how absolutely not distressed he is – he’s grinning like a madman and holding in his hand the thing that made him call Martin in here, brandishing it with glee, and he watches Martin’s expression shift as his panicked brain cools down and his rational brain catches up, and –“Jesus, Tim, why?” he asks, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he realizes that what Tim is holding is the largest dildo that Martin owns, the largest one that Tim has ever seen. “Do you have to be so dramatic?”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Series: you've been like a light [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668694
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71
Collections: Martim Week 2021





	you undo me

_you undo me, i'm a happy mess  
my dress slips to the floor and i pose  
what an amateur  
to be like this, exposed  
you deny the other side of me  
that strips good love away  
and you kissed my mirror reflection  
when i looked at me today_ _  
_

// carly rae jepsen, 'heavy lifting'

* * *

_ “Martin!” _

Tim’s shout is so sudden and urgent that he almost scares himself, and he can only imagine the reaction Martin’s having. He would say something else, a clarification that everything’s alright, except that he can hear Martin walking to the bedroom at a reasonably brisk pace, probably overthinking how silly it would be to run. By the time Tim would be able to get a sentence out, Martin would be here already, so he doesn’t bother, just waits for Martin to round the doorway.

He’s wearing a well-practiced look of reasonable concern, but Tim can practically hear his heart pounding out of his chest. He stops in his tracks so abruptly that Tim imagines cartoon brakes squealing as he turns to see Martin staring at him with wide eyes.  _ Poor thing, _ he thinks sympathetically, and then tries his damnedest to unthink it, because Martin is too good for his pity. Martin is everything, and it feels blasphemous to even think about him as helpless or small, like condescending to an angel. 

When Tim turns to face Martin, he tries to show how absolutely not distressed he is – he’s grinning like a madman and holding in his hand the thing that made him call Martin in here, brandishing it with glee, and he watches Martin’s expression shift as his panicked brain cools down and his rational brain catches up, and –

“Jesus, Tim, why?” he asks, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he realizes that what Tim is holding is the largest dildo that Martin owns, the largest one that Tim has ever seen. “Do you have to be so dramatic?”

“How could I see this and  _ not  _ be dramatic about it?” Tim protests, wrapping his hands around the shaft of it. The girth is such that his fingertips just barely meet if he grasps it with one hand, but with both hands he has a pretty firm grip on it. “Is this – is it  _ new?” _ he asks, his eyes going wide with wonder.

“Ah, no,” Martin answers, fidgeting with his hands. “No, it’s… old.”

“How old? Have you ever used it?” asks Tim, his brows pulling together as he tries to do the calculations in his head based on what he knows of Martin’s sexual history. He doesn’t really need to put in that effort, though, because Martin’s silence is answer enough. “You have!” Tim realizes, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. “Holy shit, Martin, did you – did you take this?”

Martin gnaws at his lower lip, mulling over how to approach his answer delicately. They both know that Tim won’t let it stay delicate for long, but it’s good practice to at least begin the conversation with some sort of dignity. “I have, yeah,” he says, soft and even, “a couple times. But I mostly was on the other side of it with that particular toy.”

Tim makes a sound like all the air punching out of his lungs at once, looks at the dildo, then back up at Martin, back at the dildo, back up at Martin. “How many,” he begins hoarsely and has to clear his throat before trying again. “How many… how often did you? With other people? Why didn’t I know about this?”

A small laugh bubbles up from Martin’s throat at the earnest tone, the open look of awe and shock on Tim’s face. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing you think you need to disclose to everyone you sleep with,” he says, bemused. “It just hadn’t come up before. I always let you pick, you just haven’t dug that far down until now.”

Putting on his most affronted face, Tim replies, “I can’t believe you would keep this from me, after all I’ve done for you.”

“What exactly have you done for me?” Martin asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve given you my devoted friendship,” says Tim somberly, “and many, many orgasms. Who did you get this for? What did  _ that  _ guy do for you?”

“He – I didn’t get it  _ for  _ him,” Martin protests, but the fact that his mind went to a single person at all is somewhat telling. “I got it because it seemed like fun, and he’d told me that he had a bit of a size thing, and it was on sale. Are you – are you _ jealous, _ Tim?”

Tim pouts at him, his lower lip jutting out and his eyes wide and pleading. “You don’t care about me,” he moans melodramatically, dodging Martin’s question entirely. “I’m forsaken in this cold, cold world. Drifting, unloved, unfucked, utterly lost.”

Crossing the room to reach Tim, Martin takes the dildo from him and tosses it onto the bed, folds his arms across his chest. “You absolutely are not, you awful man.  _ Unfucked,” _ he scoffs. “I fuck you all the time. All the time!”

“I see you have no comment regarding the claim that you don’t care about me,” Tim retorts, holding back the urge to stick his tongue out.

“No, no comment,” Martin confirms, “because I don’t want to get in the habit of entertaining this kind of behavior. You’re just being whiny for the sake of it.”

“I’m being  _ whiny,” _ says Tim with a great deal of emphasis and feeling, “because I’ve just found out that you’ve been hiding something huge from me, and I’m  _ hurt. _ You could show a little bit of remorse, you know.”

Martin rolls his eyes loudly, sets his jaw, stares silently at Tim for several seconds before he settles on a response. “You’re upset that I haven’t used this cock with you before?” he asks, and Tim gives a little nod. “So ask me for it. If you want it so bad, just ask me for it.”

The gears turning in his head, Tim weighs the pros and cons of continuing to be a shit about it. One part of him wants to protest, to lament that it’s not about the toy itself, it’s about the principle, it’s about the fact that he’s clearly so unimportant that it hadn’t ever occurred to Martin that he might want that. Not like whoever that other guy was, special enough to buy something like that just because Martin thought he might like it. 

It’s all superficial, all in good fun, of course; if he were really upset with Martin, this would be a very different conversation. Tim’s not upset, he’s acting out for attention, and they both know it, and they both know that Martin will gladly give him that attention, so long as he can ask for it properly.

It takes him a long time to think it over before he finally decides that his dramatics are not as important as his end goal. “Please, Martin,” he implores, batting his eyelashes a few times for good measure. “I want it, I want you to fuck me with it, please.”

“Right,” Martin places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, pushing him back onto the bed, all business now that he’s resolved to do it. “I’ll give it to you, because you asked so nicely, but you’d better behave yourself, or I might change my mind. Understood?”

“Yeah,” Tim answers breathlessly, nodding his head and looking up at Martin standing over him. “I’ll be so good for you, Martin, I promise.”

“Good,” Martin says with a decisive nod. Without further ado, he strips off his shirt and jeans, bringing himself to the same state of undress as Tim, and then climbs on the bed beside him. “Come on, scoot up here,” he says, patting a spot in the middle of the bed, and Tim complies without hesitation. “Perfect,” Martin murmurs, watching Tim’s cheeks flush at the praise.

With a gentle smile and gentler hands, Martin moves to pull Tim’s boxer briefs off. Tim lifts his hips to accommodate the movement, exhaling a sharp breath at the way Martin’s fingers trail over the curve of his ass, watching Martin’s hands intently as they slide down his legs. Martin’s touch lingers, his palms pressing warm against Tim’s skin for longer than necessary, and Tim tries and fails not to start squirming so early in the evening.

Once he’s got Tim naked, Martin leans across the length of his body, holding himself on one arm and hovering over him, close enough that Tim can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. He strains toward it, itching for contact; even as Martin reaches for the lube, Tim finds that he’s not quite so eager for it as he was just minutes before, not when Martin is so close and so kissable. He could gladly go the rest of his life without being fucked, if this is the alternative. 

That said, when Martin pulls back to sit on his knees between Tim’s legs, spreading Tim’s thighs with his big, warm hands, he’s not about to complain about that, either. Martin always does this so tenderly, all soft touches and murmured praise, it almost makes Tim forget that Martin is fingering his ass open to prepare him to be fucked. It feels like something far more meaningful than that.

Everything has meaning, when it’s with Martin. It’s never just a fuck, it’s an experience, it’s a chance to prove something. Tim feels like he has a lot to prove, this time around.

Martin fucks him on two of his thick fingers, scissoring them and crooking them inside, and Tim lets every little sound pour out of his mouth, determined to make it a good show for Martin. Determined, in spite of all reason telling him how unnecessary it is, to show Martin that it’s  _ worth  _ it to fuck him, even when he’s being a terror. Obviously Martin knows this, or he wouldn’t be doing it, but Tim still has to give it all he’s got.

Just when he starts to think it’s slightly odd how long Martin’s been working him open with two fingers, that he would normally be up to three by now, Martin pulls away entirely. Tim makes a wounded sound at the loss, but stays in his place and waits to find out exactly what Martin is doing. It takes him a few seconds to realize that his eyes are closed, and he opens them to look at Martin, sitting back on his heels again and watching him with warm, round eyes.

“It’s alright,” Martin assures him, and Tim’s furrowed brow smooths out instantly. “I was just thinking it would be more efficient if you finished this up for me while I wrestle with that damn harness.”

“Okay,” says Tim, nodding his head and licking his lips. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“I know you can,” Martin tells him, the words spreading through Tim’s body like warm honey. He presses the bottle of lube into Tim’s hand, slides off the bed to retrieve the strap-on harness from the drawer. Tim watches him the whole time, until Martin turns back toward the bed with one eyebrow raised and says, “What did I ask you to do, Tim?”

That snaps Tim out of his head and back into the moment, and he gives a frenzied little nod of his head before setting to work. It wouldn’t do to disappoint Martin. Tim flips himself over because it’s much easier when his ass is in the air to reach back and work his fingers inside himself at the right angle. He turns his face away from Martin, not wanting to get distracted again, and starts with three, because his fingers are just a bit slimmer than Martin’s.

Before long, he adds a fourth finger, fucking himself open with wanton moans and trying not to get caught up in his own thoughts. His mind is always going at a million miles an hour, and right now it’s rather fixated on the idea of Martin watching him as he fingers himself. Tim does his best to avoid thoughts along the lines of  _ I hope I look good right now, I hope I’m doing a good job, I hope he likes it, _ focusing instead on the simple fact of how hot it is to have an audience for this.

Not just any audience, but  _ Martin, _ specifically. It’s a heady, overwhelming feeling; Tim’s always been a showoff, and Martin knows it, Martin encourages it. He always makes Tim feel appreciated, not surveilled, not scrutinized, not like he’s doing too much or trying too hard.

With the breathy little noises he’s making and the desperate burn of his arousal, Tim doesn’t notice when the sounds of Martin wrangling the harness stop. He keeps going, bucking his hips against the air, fucking himself on his fingers and then some, his hand tucked inside as far as it will go before his thumb gets in the way. It feels good, thoroughly preparing himself to take the massive toy. Tim doesn’t often do this himself these days, even on the rare occasions that he gets off alone; sleeping with Martin means he gets all the fingers inside him that he could ever need.

When he feels the weight of Martin settling on the bed again, he falters but doesn’t stop, because Martin hasn’t asked him to. It’s another long minute before Martin finally settles a hand on Tim’s hip and murmurs, “Alright, love, I think that’s enough.” 

Tim sighs, pulls his fingers slowly from his hole, and collapses into the bed, lying there for a moment before rolling over onto his back to see Martin properly. Martin smiles at him, grabs the lube and slicks up the toy as he continues, “You were doing so well, I almost didn’t want to stop you. You’re such a lovely little slut. Just aching to be filled up, so hungry to have your hole stuffed with cock, isn’t that right?”

Unable to form words, Tim whines something like an affirmative, nodding his head frantically, and thankfully that’s good enough for Martin. He presses the blunt head of the toy against Tim’s entrance, leans in close to give Tim a quick peck on the lips, and murmurs, “You ready?”

Bringing his hands up to Martin’s shoulders, Tim braces himself, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Yeah,” he manages to answer hoarsely. 

Martin pushes inside him slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Tim’s face, and Tim looks back at him, catching his gaze. It’s deeply intimate, not to mention wildly hot, maintaining eye contact as Martin presses forward and fills him so perfectly. The stretch is amazing and the length inexorable; Tim is sure there can’t be any more of it, and then there’s more. He whines and moans through it until Martin’s hips are flush with his, the cock buried in him to the hilt.

“Fuck, Martin,” he pants, gripping Martin’s shoulders with white knuckles. “It’s so much, feels so good. So full.”

"You know what you are, Tim?" Martin asks, petting Tim’s hair sweetly.

"I'm a lot of things,” says Tim, his voice strained as he tries to think about the question through the haze of his arousal and the overwhelming sensation. “I’m not sure which answer you're looking for?"

Blessedly, Martin takes pity on him, offering a small smile. "You are amazing," he explains gently. “Beautiful. Incredible. And you're the most important person in my life.”

Tim bites his lower lip, closes his eyes and lets out a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan. "Martin…"

Tucking two fingers under Tim’s chin, Martin gives him a look, waits for Tim to open his eyes before speaking in a low velvet voice. "Don't you  _ Martin _ me,” he says sternly, “I'm telling you exactly what you want to hear,  _ and _ it's the truth. You're my number one priority. You're my best friend." When Tim doesn’t respond, trying to avert his eyes again, Martin adds, “Do you understand me?”

Breaths coming fast and shallow, Tim gives a single, jerky nod of his head. Martin tuts at him, catches his gaze again and commands, “Say it.”

“I – I understand,” Tim chokes out.

“Good.” Martin smiles at him again, warm and sweet, and finally begins to move. He pulls out just as slowly as he pressed in, making Tim feel every inch of it, and thrusts back in a bit faster. When he’s seated all the way inside again, he puts a hand flat on Tim’s abdomen, pressing down to feel the outline of the cock.

“Oh,  _ God,” _ Tim moans, bringing his own hand to blanket Martin’s, straining up into the touch. “Fuck me, Martin, please.”

“I’ve got you, love,” Martin soothes. He leans down to kiss Tim, quick and messy, as he pulls out again, becoming more comfortable with the motion. He breaks the kiss to look at Tim’s face when he fucks back inside hard enough to knock the wind out of Tim, who gasps sharply and leaves his mouth hanging open. 

Tim has never been rendered completely speechless before, not in the bedroom and not anywhere else, not unless his mouth was otherwise occupied, but he is now. He can’t say anything, can’t do anything but take what Martin gives him, and he’s more than happy to do so. Every single nerve ending in his body is on fire, his dick is throbbing painfully, and he’s so full, so overwhelmed by the size of the thing inside him.

Martin works up to a respectable pace, still cautious but thrusting rhythmically, encouraged by Tim’s high, breathy moans. He makes periodic remarks as he fucks Tim, “Jesus, you’re gorgeous” whispered against Tim’s neck, “You take it so well” murmured into a kiss, “Good boy” purred in Tim’s ear. Each word makes Tim whine, writhing as he’s speared open on the huge cock.

He’s too far gone to ask for what he needs, but Martin knows him well enough, and is apparently feeling kind enough, to help him out a bit. He reaches down between their bodies and takes Tim’s cock between two fingers, stroking along the length of it. Tim whimpers and tries feebly to buck up against him, but he can’t get anything out of it, has to just trust that Martin will make him come.

It doesn’t take a lot of faith, with the way Martin is touching him. Tim’s worked up enough that it isn’t long before he tumbles over the edge, moaning as Martin rubs his cock and fucks him through it. He makes a wounded sound, a high-pitched cry accompanied by a tight grip on Martin’s biceps, and Martin takes the cue to pull his hand back.

He waits a moment before easing the toy out of Tim, slowly and gingerly. Tim whines when Martin pulls out entirely, feeling criminally empty and entirely wrecked. Martin disentangles himself from the harness and tosses it aside, along with the toy, while Tim catches his breath. Before he regains his presence of mind, Tim is already groping blindly for any part of Martin he can reach, but especially determined to get a hand between his legs.

Martin chuckles quietly when he realizes what Tim is trying to do. “That wasn’t enough for you?”

“Course it was,” Tim slurs mindlessly, “but I want to make you come.”

“Alright,” says Martin, gracious as ever. “You’ve earned that, I think.”

Coming into himself more with each second, Tim gets Martin to lie back and presses two fingers inside his slick hole, mouthing at his cock. Martin gets a hand in Tim’s hair, grinding up against his tongue as Tim makes hungry, wanton little sounds. Tim licks and sucks his cock, pumping two fingers in and out, pressing up against the perfect spot inside him.

It’s graceless, but effective. It takes them both by surprise when Martin reaches his peak, coming faster and harder than expected, gushing over Tim’s face. Tim moans against Martin’s slick and heated skin, his own dick twitching with newfound arousal at the taste and feel of Martin and the intensity of his climax. Martin lets out a high, breathy noise as Tim strokes him inside and sucks him until the aftershocks come over him. 

Knowing Martin is too sensitive to take any more, Tim pulls away to press open-mouthed kisses along the swell of Martin’s stomach, his inner thighs. He could gladly do this for hours, but then Martin recovers from his orgasm and grunts at him, tugging gently on his hair, so Tim slinks up the length of Martin’s body, now directing his attention to kissing Martin’s mouth.

They kiss like that for a few minutes, Tim relishing the silken heat of Martin’s lips and the way their bodies are flush against each other from chest to hips. Martin wraps his arms around Tim and holds him close, licks into his mouth with a languid sort of ease, and Tim opens up happily to let him in. 

Eventually, Tim is the one to pull back, breaking the kiss to rest his head on Martin’s chest and throw an arm across his middle, letting his heart rate and his breathing even out as he listens to Martin’s do the same. It’s quiet and comfortable for a moment, until Tim has to voice the thought that’s been nagging at him.

“Was he better than me?” he asks, only half serious. “Whoever you were with before, I mean. Whoever you bought that thing for. Was he better than me?”

“Hm?” Martin cocks an eyebrow at him. “Better at… taking cock?”

“Yeah,” Tim nods, as if this is a perfectly normal thing to ask, and then jerks his head in the direction of where Martin had discarded the harness and the toy. “That cock, in particular.”

Martin smiles softly, stroking Tim’s hair with a tender hand. “No, love, he wasn’t better than you,” he assures Tim fondly. “You’re the best cockslut I’ve ever had the pleasure of ruining with a massive dildo. Are you happy now?”

Tim smiles very wide. “Yeah, I am,” he says, then sighs happily and rolls over to let Martin press in close to his back and envelop him in his arms, warm and soft and safe.

It’s some time later, when they’re both half asleep and neither has spoken in a while, when Martin whispers, “Hey, Tim?” He sounds careful, nervous. “Remember when you said – you said we hadn’t talked about being exclusive.”

“Yeah,” Tim answers, trying not to let on how anxious he is all of a sudden. He’s facing away from Martin, not to mention that it’s dark, and it’s disorienting not being able to see Martin’s face, but he can’t make a big deal of it, not when he’s not sure where this conversation is going. He has to keep his cool, even as a lump rises in his throat. He isn’t even really sure what he’s afraid of, but he knows that this is a delicate topic to address with anyone you’re sleeping with, and Martin isn’t just anyone.

“You know I’m not sleeping with anyone but you,” Martin says, and pauses for a long time before adding, “I don’t  _ want  _ to sleep with anyone but you.”

“Oh. Yeah, me too,” says Tim, relaxing marginally. Then he catches himself and qualifies before Martin can call him out: “Jon was a fluke. One-time fluke. I haven’t – I haven’t been with anyone else since we started doing this.”

“Oh,” Martin says, his tone inscrutable. He could be pleased, or relieved, but Tim can’t tell until he continues, “Do you – would you  _ like  _ to be… exclusive? Since we basically already are, I mean, it can’t hurt to make it – official?”

Tim lets out a deep sigh of relief, turns over onto his other side so they’re nose-to-nose. “God, yes,” he whispers, settling a hand on Martin’s cheek and pushing in to kiss him quickly. “Yes, yeah, absolutely. Please.”

Even without being able to properly see it, Tim can picture the smile on Martin’s face when he replies, sounding almost surprised, “Good. Good. Yeah.”


End file.
